


Welcome to the Jungle

by celtic7irish



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Non Iron Man 3 Compliant, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, Steve has the Worst Timing, Tony Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: Post Civil War. Tony Stark has been invited to Wakanda for diplomatic negotiations. In a show of good faith, Bucky volunteered to escort Tony to Wakanda.  Unfortunately, they didn't quite make it there. Now Tony is stuck in the middle of a jungle with the Winter Soldier, with no armor and no way of communicating with the outside.





	1. Welcome to the Jungle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Creative_Cabbage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creative_Cabbage/gifts).



> Based loosely on the following prompts:
> 
> Tony and Bucky are stuck in the middle of the woods, waiting for a ride out. They have to camp in the wilderness (wherever) and get over their differences. Also, they have to share a tent because they suck at packing for emergencies.
> 
> Bucky is protective of Tony (not an AU plz)
> 
> Tony calls Bucky "James" for the first time

“What the hell was that, Barnes?” Tony demanded furiously, his repulsor aimed directly at the scowling soldier.

 

“That was me saving your stupid life,” Barnes growled back, his voice cold.

 

“By crashing the Quinjet?” Tony demanded (well, screeched, if he was being honest, which he wasn’t). “How was blowing the jet up in mid-air saving my life?”

 

Slate grey eyes just stared at him for a long moment. Finally, one eyebrow rose just a bit.  “You’re still alive, ain’t ya?” Barnes asked.  Tony made a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper, and Barnes’ eyebrow went back down.

 

Tony wanted to rage some more, and Barnes made an attractive target. Not only had he detonated the bomb they’d found on the Quinjet early, but he’d also jumped out of the plane without a goddamn parachute, like he was Captain America or something.  

 

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Tony snapped back, frustrated by the Soldier’s nonchalance over nearly dying. Again. “The armor isn’t designed for that sort of abuse.”  He’d only brought the suitcase armor with him, and it was flimsy compared to the full armors.  Lightweight and compact, it was designed for quick fights and fast escapes.  Plowing through trees and underbrush had pretty much torn it to pieces.  It was eerily reminiscent of his first awkward flight in the Mark I.  Only this time, instead of being stranded alone in the desert, he was stranded in the middle of a forest somewhere with the goddamn Winter Soldier. _Who had blown up their plane._

 

“Shoddy workmanship,” Barnes drawled laconically, arms crossed over his chest.

 

Tony stared at him incredulously. “You…do you actually want me to shoot you?” he demanded. “Because I’m starting to think you do.”

 

Barnes just shrugged, glancing up at the tree tops. “You could,” he replied easily.  “But Stevie might not pick you up after.”  He seemed to be vaguely amused, which was more emotion than Tony usually saw from the stoic Soldier.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Tony debated for a long while before sighing, letting his arm drop to his side, the repulsor winding down. He very maturely ignored the brief flicker of smugness on Barnes’ face.  “Whatever,” he muttered.  “No jet, no armor, and no idea where we are.  I hope you have a plan.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Salvage,” he said cryptically, then turned and walked away.  Tony stared after him for a moment, then realized that Barnes was about to disappear from his sight in a forest in the middle of….somewhere.  Where they’d landed after Barnes had blown up the Quinjet on the way to Wakanda for a diplomatic roundtable.

 

Tony hurried to catch up, staring daggers into Barnes’ back, his fingers clenching into fists. “Salvage? Salvage what?” he demanded.  “I’m pretty sure there’s _nothing left_!”

 

Barnes didn’t answer him, as per usual, and strode further into the forest, back towards where the pieces of the Quinjet had landed. Tony supposed they were lucky that they hadn’t set the damn trees on fire, because then they really would be dead.

 

Instead, he got to follow a tireless supersoldier through thorns and underbrush and overgrowth. He was hot and damp and sticky and miserable, and he was pretty sure the mosquitos here were probably carrying malaria or worse.  Barnes, the smug bastard, didn’t seem to be having any of the problems that normal humans like Tony had, and Tony found himself grumbling under his breath as he struggled to breathe in the humid air, his diminished lung capacity not helpful.

 

Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward, refusing to utter a word of complaint or discomfort. Barnes would just scoff at him, and probably ditch him to make his way back to the Quinjet on his own.  Tony didn’t much care for the other man – he’d killed his _parents_ , for god’s sake – but he sure as hell didn’t want to be left here alone, with no means to communicate and no idea how long it would take the others to notice that Tony and Barnes weren’t where they were supposed to be.  So maybe Barnes had the right idea after all.

 

“Do you actually know where you’re going?” he demanded finally, unable to keep quiet. They’d been walking for nearly twenty minutes now, and Tony couldn’t take it anymore.  “I mean, this is a big forest, lots of trees, and I’m pretty sure we landed nowhere close to the jet.”  He was met by silence.  “Okay, fine, whatever. We’ll just keep walking.  I really hope you’re not planning to kill me and leave me in the woods.  At least burn my body if you do, though, okay?  Because wildlife sucks.  Speaking of wild…why couldn’t we have crash landed closer to civilization, huh? I mean, the bomb was set to go off when we landed.  We could’ve been a lot closer to, you know, other people.  And technology.  I could have had a new Quinjet within forty-eight hours.  So why, exactly, did you decide we had to do this over a bunch of trees?”

 

“So nobody else got killed when the pieces landed.” The fact that Barnes answered was shocking enough that it took Tony a moment to process what he’d actually said.

 

“Oh. Well. I guess that makes sense,” he allowed. “And water probably wouldn’t have been any better.”  Mostly because the suitcase armor was not meant to be submerged in deep water, and he didn’t know how Barnes would fare; it’s not like it had ever come up in conversation.  “But still, I’d like to think we could’ve done a _little_ better than this.”  And Barnes was back to ignoring him.  Great.

 

Tony stopped paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth after that, keeping up a steady stream of chatter, occasionally slapping at an insect as large as his palm, or pausing long enough to climb up over a fallen log – faster than walking around, if not easier. Barnes continued to ignore him, slowing down only on occasion to hold a thick branch out of the way so Tony could duck under it, before once more taking the lead.

 

Tony could smell the burnt metal and gunpowder long before they came across the Quinjet, which was scattered across maybe three square miles of ground, though Tony couldn’t be sure from their vantage point. Barnes had been pointing the jet downwards when he’d detonated it, so Tony supposed they were lucky that it wasn’t spread out over ten or so miles instead.  “Okay, Ice Cold, what the hell are we looking for?” he grumbled as he settled on a mostly intact log, watching Barnes pick through the smoldering wreckage.  He was hot and thirsty and tired, and he’d really rather be sleeping in a bed right now.

 

“Survival gear,” Barnes told him, his tone patronizing. Tony narrowed his eyes, but sighed and slid off the tree, stumbling only a little when his feet hit the ground.  The leaves were slippery, that was all.

 

“Survival gear,” he muttered under his breath. “Because that’s apparently a thing.”  He paused.  “Do we even have survival gear?” he wondered.

 

The look Barnes shot him was positively scathing, and Tony’s hand twitched at his side. “You have _Captain America_ and _Black Widow_ ,” he pointed out.  “Of course you have survival gear.”  He paused to consider that for a moment.  “Probably,” he added reluctantly.  Tony scoffed.  Barnes turned his face away from him, but not before Tony caught of glimpse of something that might’ve almost been a smile.  If Barnes had a sense of humor. Which he didn’t.

 

The wreckage, when they finally stumbled across it – well, okay, Tony stumbled, Barnes just strode in like he’d known where he was going the whole time – Tony gave a low whistle. The Quinjet had actually remained remarkably intact, despite the fact that a bomb had gone off in it and it had crashed into a bunch of really big trees before slamming into the ground.

 

“Check that way. Black metal box,” Barnes ordered.  Tony considered protesting, but when Barnes slid down the side of the ditch where the remains of the Quinjet now resided, he decided that he’d rather keep the high ground.  So he sauntered over to the right, towards the back of the plane, his eye taking in the scattered gear, already determining what might be useful and discarding what wouldn’t.  He’d have to see if he could get people in here to clean up the remains, too; Quinjet technology was still proprietary, and he didn’t want a bunch of local natives stumbling onto its carcass and trying to build one of their own.

 

He grabbed things that he felt might be useful – mostly tech, of course) – and shoved it into a small pile while he sorted. If he was lucky, he’d be able to build some kind of communicator.  And he still had to go back and retrieve the pieces of his Iron Man armor.  He hadn’t liked leaving it behind, but this wasn’t Tennessee, he couldn’t just wrap it up all pretty-like and drag it along the forest floor. Not with Barnes in charge of the pace.

 

The box wasn’t topside, so Tony strolled back towards the plane, hoping Barnes had managed to find it. If not, then it was scattered somewhere on the forest floor.  If it even existed at all.  Tony was doubtful.

 

He heard Barnes before he saw him, the sound of his metal hand tearing at something also made of metal sending a shiver down his spine. The Quinjet had made that sound when Barnes had wrenched the door open before throwing Tony out of the sudden opening, metal and pressure and inexorable force.  Tony swayed for a moment, then shook himself and moved forward, a bit more cautiously than before.  “I am going to assume that you had better luck,” he mused, peering over the edge of the crater and watching as Barnes tore the lid off of a large, mostly intact black box.

 

Pale grey eyes flicked in his direction before Barnes went back to prying the lid off. Inside were – much to Tony’s surprise – supplies.  He saw some ration bars and a bag that probably contained a tent, a couple of lanterns, a camp stove, and various other objects that might or might not prove useful.

 

“So we’re really doing this, then,” he muttered. “Camping in the middle of the forest while we wait for our teammates to figure out that we’re not where we’re supposed to be and come to our rescue.”  He sighed heavily.  “I really, really hate being the damsel,” he mourned.

 

“Go shoot somethin’,” Barnes suggested. “You’ll feel better.”  His matter-of-fact drawl startled a laugh out of Tony, and he found himself grinning at the other man.

 

“Probably,” he agreed. “Flying would be better, though.”  Barnes just shrugged.  Tony hesitated for another moment, then slid down the embankment as well, pulling to a stop close to Barnes and eyeing the box.  Now he could see why the soldier hadn’t bothered to try and drag it up and out; the bottom was sunk into a deep furrow, and the structural integrity was in question.  It was easier to just open it and pull out what they needed than risk it tearing open on them when they lifted, which would just make them have to pick everything up off the ground instead.

 

“All right,” he said at last, holding his hands out expectantly. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

Barnes tilted his head to the side and gave him a confused look that Tony was more used to seeing on Cap’s face, usually when Tony was talking complicated tech at him. “We need to get this out of here and find somewhere to set up camp, right?” he explained shortly.  “I can help.”

 

Barnes shrugged, then handed him the bag that presumably held the tent and a couple of lanterns. Tony shrugged the bag’s strap over his shoulder and held the lanterns in his free hand –the one not currently wearing a repulsor.  Taking another duffle bag, he tucked the camp stove into it and then started shoving ration bars into it.

 

Tony watched him for a moment, and then turned to climb back up, scrambling back onto the forest floor. It was rapidly growing darker, and Tony realized that it must be nearly nightfall. He shuddered; nighttime in the wood meant cold and bugs and wild animals looking for dinner. He’d really prefer that the dinner not be him.  Shifting his hand, he listened as the repulsor whined as it charged, then let it shut down again, feeling slightly more confident that a repulsor blast would take out anything short of a bear.  And if a bear came for him, he was siccing the Winter Soldier on it.  He was at least eighty-eight percent sure the bear would lose.

 

He'd take those odds.


	2. It Gets Worse Here Every Day

_Tony watched him for a moment, and then turned to climb back up, scrambling back onto the forest floor. It was rapidly growing darker, and Tony realized that it must be nearly nightfall. He shuddered; nighttime in the wood meant cold and bugs and wild animals looking for dinner. He’d really prefer that the dinner not be him.  Shifting his hand, he listened as the repulsor whined as it charged, then let it shut down again, feeling slightly more confident that a repulsor blast would take out anything short of a bear.  And if a bear came for him, he was siccing the Winter Soldier on it.  He was at least eighty-eight percent sure the bear would lose._

_He’d take those odds._

 

“So,” Tony said, more for something to talk about than any actual curiosity, “how long do you think it’ll be until Cap realizes that we haven’t arrived, and that I haven’t absconded with you and thrown you into a cell somewhere?”

 

“He probably has a Quinjet fueled and ready to go,” Barnes grunted behind him, dropping his duffle to the ground and eyeing Tony’s hoard of scavenged technology. “And who’s to say he doesn’t think I killed you and hid the body before runnin’ again?” he asked mildly.  Tony stared at him in mock horror, and Barnes’ mouth did that funny little twisty thing that apparently substituted as a smile these days.  “Me an’ Starks ain’t ever really gotten along.”

 

Tony bit back the urge to snarl at Barnes that came up whenever his parents’ death was brought up in conversation – which was almost never, except by _the idiot who had killed them_ – then realized what the soldier had said.  “What? You didn’t like Dad before you killed him?” he asked, more curious than anything.  Steve had adored the guy, gotten along with him spectacularly.  Tony had just assumed that Howard’s charisma and flirtatious nature had charmed everybody else, too.

 

Barnes stared at him for a moment, the forest slowly growing darker around them. “We need to set up camp,” he said at last.  Which didn’t answer Tony’s question, but the genius could multi-task.

 

He’d found a large piece of broken-off metal from the Quinjet, and he transferred his tech onto it, then threw the tent and other supplies on it as well. They wouldn’t be going far, hopefully, just in case a beacon or something was still intact on the remains of the Quinjet and they were located quickly.  He looked around for something they could use as rope to drag the metal behind them like a sled, but Barnes solved that quickly, handing him the bag with food before just gripping one edge of the makeshift sled with his metal hand and pulling.

 

“Well, okay, then,” Tony said bemusedly. “Got any idea where we’re making camp?”

 

Barnes shrugged, then turned and walked away. With an aggrieved sigh, Tony followed, picking up the conversation where they’d left off.  “So how come you didn’t like my old man?” he asked curiously.  Not that it excused the fact that Barnes had killed his parents, but he’d had enough time in the past several months to calm down and come to terms with the fact that Barnes had been under orders at the time, that he’d probably had no recollection of the Starks when he’d been sent to retrieve the vials of serum and eliminate all witnesses.  It still stung, bitterly, but he couldn’t find it in himself to take it out on Barnes, not when the other man had _voluntarily_ come to escort him to Wakanda, well aware that Tony might have decided to actually kill him the next time he saw him.

 

The metal scraped along the dirt and leaves for a moment, both men trudging along with their burden. “I don’t remember much from Before,” Barnes admitted, his head swiveling as he sought out potential dangers and shelter.  “But I remember Stevie bein’ real scrawny and sickly.  I was always afraid he’d die if I turned m’back on ‘im.”  Tony didn’t interrupt this time when he paused, and Barnes continued after a moment, having gathered his thoughts.  “Stark and that Erskine fellow made him better, but they could’ve killed ‘im.  Not an ounce of common sense between them, and Stevie volunteered for it, the little punk.”

 

Tony considered that for a moment, feeling the amusement slowly creeping through him. “So you hated my dad because he stole your best friend,” he said, almost gleefully.  Barnes glared at him balefully, and his grin widened.  “And I bet the fact that Rogers liked him just made you hate him more, huh?” he needled, watching Barnes’ metal hand clench tightly, the metal in its grip creaking and groaning with the added pressure.  He probably shouldn’t have said what he did next, but he’d never been one much for self-restraint.

 

“And Steve grew up to be a real boy and didn’t need his best friend to help him anymore, did he? Poor Barnes, with nobody left to protect.”

 

He really should have seen the punch coming, but even if he had, that probably wouldn’t have saved him. Tony crashed to the ground with a surprised yell of pain, holding his hand up to his bleeding nose and staring with wide eyes up at Barnes, who was staring back down at him with something like panic.

 

“Shit!” Barnes swore, crouching down in front of Tony, then sitting back on his heels when Tony flinched away. “Dammit, Stark, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ta hit you.”  He looked genuinely distressed, and Tony ignored the tears leaking from his eyes as he prodded around his nose.  Nothing appeared to be broken, which meant that Barnes had been holding back.

 

“I probably deserved that,” he admitted, his voice quiet and a bit nasally. “And really, I have that effect on a lot of people.  Pretty sure that last fight was just Steve letting out his frustration. He’s always so uptight, you know?”  He was still pressing on the tender flesh around his nose, pretty positive he’d probably have two black eyes in a matter of minutes.  He blinked away the tears so he could peer up at a contrite Winter Soldier.  “Huh,” he said.

 

Barnes tilted his head in confusion, though that guilty, stricken look didn’t leave his face. “I know you probably don’t want me anywhere near you right now,” he said, “but we really need to get set up.  I don’t know exactly where we are, an’ that means that I don’t know what kinda animals are around here that like to hunt at night.”  Standing, he offered a hand to Tony, then seemed to think better of it and let it drop to his side again before using his metal hand to grip their supply sled.  “Can you walk?”

 

Tony nodded. “Yeah, nothing’s busted except maybe my pride,” he grumbled, climbing carefully to his feet.  “You were holding back.”

 

“I don’t kill. Not anymore,” Barnes admitted quietly, then turned away. Tony stared at him curiously.  And perhaps just a bit sympathetically.  After all, hadn’t he shut down Stark Industries entire weapon manufacturing division after his return from Afghanistan?  Because he’d seen soldiers – just kids, really – get blown up with his weapons, his _legacy_.  Merchant of Death.  And now Barnes was saying he’d done the same, that he was no longer a weapon of war, of violence and destruction and death.

 

Tony shook his head sharply; now was not the time to be relating to the Winter Soldier, of all things. “Lead on, Macduff,” he teased.  Barnes shot him a confused look, and Tony gave him a shooing motion.  Barnes rolled his eyes, but some of the tension eased out of him, apparently reassured that Tony wasn’t terribly injured and in danger of dying anytime soon.

 

Tony, however, was not above being petty in revenge, so he spent the next ten minutes while Barnes searched for a campsite bitching and whining about every little thing, asking pointed, needling questions to the expanse of Barnes’ back, charging his gauntlet before letting it wind down again, and in general just being the biggest pain in the ass he possibly could. Barnes must have tuned him out shortly after they’d started walking again, because he didn’t react, not to answer or growl or threaten or strike Tony again.

 

Finally, the Soldier stopped in some sort of clearing – if the narrow space between the trees could even be called that – and Tony collapsed right where he was, uncaring that he was sitting on dirt and leaves in his undersuit. It was insulated against all sorts of weather, so he just flopped onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head.

 

Barnes glanced at him, but must have still been feeling guilty for his earlier attack, because he said nothing and just set about pitching the tent and setting up camp. Tony debated offering to go find firewood or something, but decided against it.  Instead, he sat up and pulled the duffle towards him, rifling through its contents and pulling out bits of metal and wire.  Camping was not one of his talents, but technology? That he knew.  He’d make some sort of tracker or beacon that would at least give any retrieval parties a general vicinity in which to start their search.  If he remembered the terrain correctly, this jungle was very large, and very remote.  And he had no intention of staying here any longer than absolutely necessary.

 

It took him a while to realize that the sounds of Barnes setting up camp had stopped, and Tony looked up, frowning when he realized he was alone in the clearing. There was a single tent set up, and a rough fire pit had been scraped out.  Tony didn’t remember there being a shovel, so Barnes must have used a stick.  Or his metal arm.  Tony grimaced; that thing would be a bitch to clean out if Barnes got dirt and leaves between the metal plates.

 

“What? You couldn’t have left a note or something?” he muttered, grimacing as he got to his feet, all the aches and pains from crashing and then walking for hours finally making themselves known as he straightened out of his stooped position.

 

“Sorry,” Barnes said from behind him, making him jump. “Didn’t think you’d even notice I was gone.”  He was carrying a rather significant stack of wood in his arms.  “Figured I’d get a fire started or somethin’.”

 

Tony blinked at him. “Uh, yeah, fire,” he agreed.  “Because that’s probably a thing we should do.”  He glanced at the bag containing their food.  “I don’t suppose there’s any coffee in there?” he asked hopefully.

 

Barnes shrugged. “Powdered drinks,” he told him.  “Might be coffee.”

 

Tony made a sound of wanting and started pawing eagerly through the bad while Barnes prepared a camp fire, the cracking of wood making a nice counterpoint to the rustling of foil packets. Tony wrinkled his nose in disgust at some of the flavors. Who the hell ate Jambalaya with Shrimp MRE’s? Or Veggie Omelettes, for that matter? 

 

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed, pulling out one of the C-rations that contained coffee. Then he glanced up, realizing that Barnes was just watching him placidly.  “Now what, Frosty?” he sighed, too tired to bother to be annoyed.

 

Barnes shrugged. “Just thought you might like a chance to actually shoot somethin’,” he drawled, gesturing towards the logs sitting in the roughly circular pit.  Tony looked at the logs, looked at Barnes, then looked back at the logs.  He grinned.

 

“Aw, why not?” he said, whistling cheerfully as he lifted his hand, listening to the comforting whine as the repulsor charged up. He had adjusted it for a lower setting, just in case he really did end up shooting Barnes, so when the beam struck the wood, there was only a minor explosion, followed by a cheerfully cracking fire.  Tony laughed, absurdly pleased with himself, and moved closer to the fire, tossing Barnes a couple of the MRE’s.  He knew that super soldier metabolism required a ton of fuel, and if Barnes was anything like Rogers, then all of the walking and hauling and gathering had probably seriously depleted his stores of energy.

 

Barnes didn’t even glance at the MRE’s, just setting up what little cookware they had – Tony made a note to have Friday pack the Quinjet appropriately just as soon as they got back to civilization – and opening it. He didn’t even grimace as the various bits of mystery meat and mushed up desserts were removed from their sealed packaging.  Tony tried not to gag, and instead set about to preparing coffee.  Though with the crap he had, all he could really do was heat a tin cup of water and dump the powdered drink into it.  Still, coffee was coffee.  Probably. He hoped.

 

Barnes seemed content to remain silent while he prepared the food, poking at it with sharpened sticks. Tony tried to refrain from making snide comments, instead taking a sip of the coffee-flavored drink as soon as it was hot enough, wincing as the metal of the cup burned his mouth.

 

When the food was done – Tony still didn’t know how Barnes had determined when that was, exactly – he divided it up, handing Tony mostly the desserts, and some sort of cheesy noodles with spiced meat in it. “Mac and cheese and chili,” Barnes informed him after seeing his blank look.  He shrugged.  “Probably the best one outta the lot.”  There was even a small yellow block of cake next to it.

 

Tony very carefully didn’t look at what Barnes was eating, afraid he might be physically ill if he did. But he supposed it was protein.

 

When dinner was finished, Barnes dumped the dishes into the duffle and shoved them at Tony. “There’s a stream just through those trees,” he informed him.  “Wash those while I secure the food.”  Before Tony could protest, he added, “Don’t want anythin’ tryin’ to take a bite outta us while we’re sleeping.”  Tony’s mouth closed fast enough that his teeth clicked together.  He accepted the rag Barnes handed him – rough and abrasive like burlap – and wandered into the trees.

 

He couldn’t hear the water, and the further he moved from the fire, the darker it got. Tony sighed, glad that he’d designed the undersuit to let light from his reactor through.  It was still oppressively dark here, but at least he could see, a bit.

 

Barnes had been right about one thing though; the stream wasn’t very far, and Tony stopped at its edge with a sigh, dropping the duffle with a loud clang and crouching down to dip the rag in the stream. The running water was cold, and he shivered, his hands going half-numb as he rung out the rag and grabbed the first pan out of the bag, determined to wash them as quickly as possible and get back to the warm fire, where he could give Barnes a piece of his mind.  No way did the other man not realize how cold this damn water was.

 

He grumbled to himself as he worked. “This is why I pay people to do the dishes,” he muttered. “So I don’t have to. I pay them outrageously, even. _And_ they get to use hot water,” he added grumpily as the flatter pan they’d been using as a plate slipped out of his hands and onto the ground next to him.  He grimaced, picking it up by its edge. “Ew, dead leaves and mud.  Fantastic, fabulous.  This is awful.  Why do people do this voluntarily?” he demanded of no one in particular.

 

Bending to the task at hand, Tony set about washing the dishes as quickly as he could, grimacing at the cold water. When he was finished, Tony stood, turning to get his bearings before returning to the campsite.  His feet made a loud crunching noise against the leaves on the jungle floor, and it suddenly dawned on him that it was way too quiet.  Even accounting for nightfall, there should still be the rustling sounds that accompanied scurrying rodents.  Or maybe the hoot of an owl.  Tony didn’t know, but he did know that it shouldn’t be this quiet. 

 

Debating for a moment, Tony decided he’d risk a direct attack rather than being stalked by something he couldn’t see while his back was turned. He dropped the dishes with a loud clatter and brought his repulsor to bear, whining as it charged.

 

A low snarl was all the warning he got before a large shape launched itself at him, teeth bared in a snarl, claws extended. Tony dropped to the ground, firing off a shot that missed, but also caused the beast to twist away, barely missing Tony with its bulk and letting Tony get a good look at it.  Great, a giant panther, just what he needed right now.

 

Tony turned, firing off a second shot, his free hand grabbing the heavy skillet they’d used for cooking. He didn’t know how much good it would do, but maybe he could stun the large cat long enough to _get the hell out of there_.

 

“Bad kitty,” he tried as the panther launched at him with an angry roar. The beam hit the cat’s rump, forcing it back with a pained scream.  “Humans are not food.”  The panther was unimpressed with his assertion, baring its teeth and snarling at him, eyes narrowed maliciously as he stared it down.

 

Tony held his arm steady, watching his opponent. With another snarl, the panther slunk back into the trees, golden eyes watching him balefully until they, too, were gone.  Tony didn’t move for several long moments, listening and watching.  The local wildlife finally started to stir in the underbrush, and Tony released his breath in a long sigh, ignoring the way his limbs were shaky, his shoulders so tense they ached.

 

“Next time, Barnes can wash the damn dishes, and I’ll secure the food,” he muttered, quickly gathering up the dishes and turning back towards the camp, moving as quickly as he could in the light from the arc reactor, wincing when he stumbled over fallen branches or slipped on wet leaves. For the first time in a long time, he felt as if the reactor wasn’t so much a life-saving device as it was a beacon, a brilliant target.  Hell, Barnes could probably see him coming a mile off, he thought uncharitably.

 

Some of the tension left his shoulders as the camp became visible, the fire still burning brightly. Barnes was crouched in front of the fire, poking at it with a stick, but he looked up as Tony approached.  Before Tony could call out a greeting, Barnes was gesturing at him in the universal “Stop moving, you idiot!”  Tony froze, the back of his neck prickling.

 

Barnes stood slowly, his gaze locked somewhere behind and to the left of Tony, and the genius kept perfectly still. Keep moving, nothing to see here, no tasty food running around.  If he was eaten by an overgrown cat, Tony was going to come back and haunt Barnes for getting him eaten. 

By his side, the glove repulsor charged, but he already knew he wasn’t going to have enough time. He didn’t have a bead on the large cat.

 

Raising his eyes, he met Barnes’ stare and realized that the other man was holding a sniper’s rifle. He had the inexplicable urge to make some smartass comment about how Barnes could apparently pack a rifle, but not a second tent. Or decent food.

 

The gun went off at the same time the panther screamed from behind him, and Tony hit the dirt, two hundred plus pounds of carnivorous cat breathing down his neck. He screamed as claws drove into his shoulders.  There was a second loud crack as Barnes fired again, and the panther dropped, its weight driving Tony harder against the ground, making it impossible for him to breathe, with his face pressed into the jungle floor and nothing but dead weight pressing down on him.  Dead, hah.


	3. Watch You Bleed

Weight was being shifted off of his back, carefully, and Tony whimpered as he felt the blood on his shoulders and back. Some of it was his, he knew, and some was probably the panther’s.  He turned his head to the side so he could breathe, but otherwise didn’t move, his breaths coming sharp and fast.  “Oh, god, nearly eaten by a giant cat,” he moaned piteously, trying really hard not to think about what would have happened if Barnes hadn’t been there with his rifle.  He’d always known that he’d probably die violently, but dying by panther attack?  That had not been expected.

 

He startled when hands touched his shoulders, scrambling upwards and biting back another scream as his shoulders protested the movement, sending more blood down his back. He stared wide-eyed at Barnes, who was watching him with wide eyes.  “Jesus, Tony,” he finally gasped out.  “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.  You’re movin’, but that cat had its claws in you but good,” he informed him.

 

Tony blinked, trying to process the words he was hearing, to force them into some kind of coherence, but he wasn’t having much luck. His mouth worked for a moment before he finally managed to stammer out, “Hurts.”  His throat felt like it had been rubbed raw, and he could taste something bitter in the back of his throat.  Brown eyes moved to stare at the dead panther.  “Probably endangered,” he muttered.  “But thanks,” he added grudgingly, still sort of drifting.  He was cold, but the blood was warm, and he started giggling at the thought, unable to help himself.

 

“Stark. You okay there, pal?” Barnes asked.  Tony just stared back at him helplessly, the laughter practically forced out of him, even as it pulled on his shoulders and made his neck twinge.  “Shit,” the Soldier muttered, inching closer and reaching for Tony again.  This time, Tony let him, his laughter dying down into giggles.  “Christ,” Barnes muttered, and Tony had the weirdest urge to scold him for language, which sent him giggling again, his body trembling with it. 

 

“Sorry,” he managed to gasp out as the laughter finally died down. “Everything’s kind of weird right now.  Shock? Am I going into shock? Is this what shock is like?”  He was pretty sure the last time he’d felt this confused had been in Afghanistan, dying in the heat and the sand and covered in his own blood.

 

Barnes shrugged. “Probably,” he agreed idly.  “Let’s get you by the fire.”  His hands – flesh and metal – were gentle as they prodded around Tony’s injuries, and the genius grimaced as pain flared up and down his arms and spine.  “I need to get that shirt off, too.  You were able to sit up, so he probably didn’t tear into any muscles, but I want to check to be safe.”

 

Tony nodded agreeably, but refused to budge. Now that he had stopped moving, the adrenaline was wearing off, and he was aware of the bruises and cuts from where he had landed hard on the ground.  He was filthy, covered in dirt and leaves and blood, and he desperately wanted to be back at the Tower right now, getting clean and seeking out medical attention.  Well, getting clean, at least, he thought to himself, amused in a vague sort of way.  He was really having trouble focusing, and the blinked up at the Soldier.  “I think I…” and that was as far as he got before he toppled listlessly to the side.

 

Barnes’ metal arm caught him before he hit the jungle floor, the Soldier cursing frantically as he lifted Tony into a princess carry. Tony’s head lolled against the other man’s shoulder, his eyes slowly drifting shut, despite Barnes’ commands to keep them open.  “M’fine,” he slurred out.  “Jus’….tired.”

 

When he was settled down on his stomach on the ground near the fire, he sighed, turning his face towards the flames. The heat prickled along his back, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to scooch closer or move further away.  It was a moot point anyhow, he supposed.

 

Cool metal against his neck was a startling surprise, and Tony shivered. “Jus’ hang in there for another minute, Tony,” Barnes murmured.  Tony hummed some sort of agreement – or maybe a refusal? – and went limp.  He felt Barnes’ hands at the collar of his undersuit, tearing it in half with a sharp yank.  He didn’t even have the energy to tell him how hot that was, and the white hot pain might have overridden everything else, he didn’t know anymore.

 

“C’mon, Tony, don’t do this,” Barnes muttered. “Stevie’s gonna kill me if you die.”

 

With insurmountable effort, Tony managed to slit one eye open to peer up at Barnes. The Soldier had a small field medical kit open on the ground next to him, and Tony wanted to laugh.  Given the sort of injuries they sustained on a semi-regular basis, he would’ve thought they’d have been better stocked than that.  Then again, maybe they had been. Maybe the rest of the supplies were scattered across the jungle with the rest of the Quinjet.

 

He whimpered when Barnes pressed something firmly across his shoulders. “You’re fine.  The cuts aren’t that deep, didn’t hit anything vital.  You’re just coming down from the adrenaline spike,” Barnes told him, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.  “Acute stress reaction, the shrink called it.”

 

Tony blinked, still trembling with cold, his breath sounding harsh in his ears, even as Barnes removed the cloth from his wounds and set about cleaning them. He hissed as a new wave of pain swept across his shoulders and down his spine, but managed to bit out, “Since when have you been seeing a shrink?”

 

Barnes shrugged. “Since I got to Wakanda,” he admitted.  “It was learn to deal, or go back into the ice.  And I don’t want to go back under the ice ever again.”

 

“Can’t blame you for that, Winterizer,” Tony agreed. Silence fell for a moment while Barnes cleaned dirt out of the puncture wounds and cuts before setting about layering them with gauze.  “Shrink any good?” he asked.  He’d never really been one for therapists, but people kept telling him that he should go see one.  He was pretty sure it wouldn’t help with the nightmares, or the panic attacks, or the occasional bout of insomnia perpetuated by too much coffee and a harrowing escape during battle.  It wasn’t like he could just _avoid_ everything that might trigger him.  Not without becoming a hermit and locking himself inside the Penthouse or the lab forever.

 

“She’s not bad,” Barnes replied. “Then again, I’ve never been to one before, so maybe I don’t know,” he added ruefully.  Tony’s lips quirked up in a ghost of a grin.  The shivers were finally starting to fade under the heat from the fire and the gentle touch of the Winter Soldier.  When Barnes removed his hands, Tony took a moment to regret the loss before trying to push himself up.  Strong hands helped him upright, and once Barnes was sure he wasn’t going to fall right back over, he set about wrapping long strips of bandage around him, moving across his back and up over shoulders in a criss-crossing pattern, leaving a large opening around the arc reactor.  Tony let him do as he pleased, hyper aware of every brush of the other man’s hands on his skin.  His next shiver had nothing to do with the cold.

 

When Barnes was finished, he sat back and eyed his work critically. “We’ll keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn’t bleed through, but I think you’ll be okay.  You’ll probably want to get some antibiotics or somethin’, though, when we get outta here.”  Which was a fair point.  The arc reactor might be keeping shrapnel away from his heart, but having the metal casing in the middle of his sternum wreaked havoc on his immune system.  Antibiotics probably wouldn’t be amiss.

 

“You’re assuming that rescue is on its way,” Tony pointed out. “But unless I can get a signal out, I’m pretty sure we’re gonna be stuck making our own way out.”  He tipped his head back to stare at the trees, only now really noticing just how tall they were.  He was pretty sure the treetops he was seeing was only the first layer.

 

Barnes considered that for a moment before making a grunt of agreement. “Well, then, how ‘bout you work on that in the tent?” he suggested.  “I didn’t know what parts you needed, so I grabbed them all.”

 

Tony lifted an eyebrow. “And what are you going to be doing while I’m trying to get us a way out of here that doesn’t involve Tarzaning our way through the jungle until we hit something that’s….not jungle?” he asked pointedly.

 

Barnes shrugged, not looking at him as he helped him to his feet. “I’ll keep watch,” he said simply.  “Make sure nothin’ else tries to eat you.”

 

“So what?” Tony snarked back, “you’re just gonna sit in a tree like a damn vulture and shoot anything that moves?”

 

“Unless that something is you, yes,” Barnes drawled back. Tony barked out a laugh, then winced when it pulled at his shoulders.

 

“My own personal guardian angel,” he teased lightly, feeling inordinately fond of the Soldier just then. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, but it had been a long time since somebody had cared enough to stand guard over _him_.  “No, but seriously, the last thing I need is the Winter Soldier falling out of a tree because he hasn’t slept in….how long has it been?” he asked curiously.  If Barnes was anything like Steve, then sleep wasn’t something that happened often, or at least not for long.

 

The Soldier’s eyes narrowed as he thought about that, and Tony realized he was pleased to see that the other man _had_ to think about it.  The Winter Soldier would have known the answer down to the minute.  “Probably five days,” he admitted grudgingly. 

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Nope, not happening.  I don’t need Steve to kill me when he gets here if you break something because you were too stupid to _stay on the ground_.”

 

“I’ll be fine, Stark.” And now Barnes was irritated.  Tony grinned; the more emotion Barnes showed, the less murderous puppet and more human he seemed.  It made it easier for Tony to correlate what he knew, intellectually – that Barnes had honestly not been in control when he’d killed Tony’s parents – with what he felt.

 

Taking a deep breath, Tony made the plunge. “Then guard from inside the tent,” he suggested.  “You can shoot just as well from the ground if anything comes sniffing around.”  He shivered, then offered the Soldier his best flirtatious look.  “Besides, I hear you super soldier types run hot, and I’m freezing,” he added.

 

Barnes paused, the remains of the fire flickering across his expressionless face as he considered Tony for several long moments. Then he nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  Striding forward, he opened the tent flaps so Tony could duck inside without having to pull at his shoulders and back more than necessary.  “Lie down. I will douse the fire.”

 

Tony found that the inside had already been set up, though there was only one sleeping bag and a couple of blankets. With a sigh, he unzipped the sleeping bag and spread it out over the bottom of the tent, grumbling the whole time.  When he got home, he was going to have Friday stock the Quinjet with the best of _everything_.  And an extra Iron Man armor that he could deploy separately.  Because he was never, ever going to do this shit again. 

 

Tony saw the bag with the electronic bits tucked into a corner, and he sighed. He’d work on that first thing tomorrow morning.  They needed to get out of here, and even if Steve realized that something might have gone wrong when they didn’t arrive in Wakanda by morning, it was unlikely he’d be able to find them without some sort of signal.  It had taken Rhodey three months to find him in the Afghanistan desert, and even then, that was only because he’d left a trail of destruction in his wake after he’d rescued his own damn self.  He could damn well do the same thing this time.  Maybe he’d make Barnes retrieve whatever parts of the Iron Man armor he could scrounge up.  Tony didn’t know if any of it was useful, but maybe he could restore his link to Friday.  But if not, the beacon was going to be his best chance at getting out of here without having to walk out.

 

Settling carefully on the sleeping bag, Tony grimaced at the feel of hard ground underneath, though he realized with something like chagrin that Barnes had apparently cleared the area under the tent of rocks and leaves and sticks, which would otherwise have been jabbing into his sides. He winced as he tried to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t compromise his breathing or make his wounds hurt worse.  They were starting to itch, too, and he grimaced; he’d heard of cat scratch fever before, but it had never occurred to him that it was an actual thing that happened.

 

He finally found a position that relatively non-painful, and let his eyes close while he listened to Barnes moving about outside. He was pretty sure that the Soldier could have made himself completely silent if he’d wanted to, like Clint and Natasha did when they wanted to sneak up on him (which was all the damn time, it seemed), but the rustling of leaves and the dull thud of booted feet was unexpectedly comforting, and Tony found himself dozing lightly, shivers occasionally wracking his frame.

 

He was half asleep when Barnes finally entered the tent, and not even the click of a gun’s safety as Barnes checked his weapon before setting it down tempted him to move. He could feel Barnes watching him, and he grumbled something incoherent as another shiver trembled its way down his spine.

 

“For a genius, you’re kinda ridiculous,” Barnes said, and his tone sounded almost…fond…as he brushed a gentle hand across Tony’s bandages, checking for any bleed-through before he sat back and stripped off some of his tac gear. With a last sigh, he settled next to Tony on the sleeping bag, sitting up and staring out towards the front.  But his body was relaxed, and Tony suspected that this was probably as close to resting as the other man was going to get while they were lost in the middle of nowhere.

 

“I’ll fix the beacon in the morning,” he mumbled. “Maybe try to find enough armor to be useful.”  With that, he rolled over carefully until he was practically hugging Barnes’ waist, sighing at the heat the other man was putting out.  He was tired and cold and in pain, and Barnes’ heat was well worth temporary forgiveness.  He was planning to have an actual talk with the other man, eventually, to let him know that as much as he hated what Barnes had done, he didn’t actually hate the man behind the Soldier.  Besides, it hadn’t been Steve who had come to escort him safely to Wakanda for peace talks, and it wasn’t Steve who was sitting awake guarding him and running a soothing hand through his hair, either.  “Mm…nice,” he mumbled, and then he was gone.  The last thing he felt was Barnes pulling the blankets up around his shoulders.


	4. We Take It Day By Day

The next morning, Tony shifted against the warmth pressed against his side, and nearly screamed as his shoulders flared with pain after having been immobile for the past several hours. “Oh, god, am I gonna die?  Please tell me yes,” he begged, refusing to open his eyes.

 

“You’re not gonna die, Tony,” Barnes told him wearily, as if he’d said it a dozen times already. And maybe he had. Tony wasn’t exactly known for being quiet, even in his sleep.  And he had absolutely no brain-to-mouth filter, just ask Pepper.  Or Rhodey.  Or…anyone who’d ever met him, really.  “But I need to take a piss and get somethin’ to eat, and I’m guessin’ you’d like some more of that crap they call coffee, so if you’re awake, I’m gonna get up and get started.  Then we gotta change your bandages.”

 

Tony grimaced, running a shaky hand through his hair and grimacing at the feel of caked-in dirt and grease. “Ugh,” he mumbled, but managed to shift over just enough to flop down on a blanket that was rolled into a makeshift pillow.  “You’re a morning person,” he complained.

 

Barnes snorted. “Nope,” he disagreed cheerfully.  “The Winter Soldier is a morning person. I’d sleep in ‘til noon if I could help it.  An’ when we get to Wakanda, I’m gonna take an hour-long shower and sleep for about fourteen hours.”

 

Tony slit one eye open to glare at him. “Fine,” he grumped.  “Wakanda it is.  Go.  Do….stuff,” he muttered, then closed his eye again determinedly.

 

Barnes snorted, but moved around the tent quietly, careful not to jostle Tony in the enclosed space. He set something on the tent floor next to Tony, and the genius opened his eyes reluctantly to take in the pistol lying there. “Just in case,” Barnes told him solemnly.  Tony ignored him, but when Barnes left the tent, his hand groped for the pistol’s grip, finding comfort in the cold metal grip.

 

Shortly thereafter, the enticing scent of coffee lured him to try again to rouse himself, and he groaned loudly in complaint as he forced muscles stiff from sleeping on the hard ground to shift and support his weight. Looking around blearily, he found a small toiletry kit, and he gave a pleased noise of approval.  He’d be able to wash up a bit before breakfast, though he wasn’t looking forward to more cold water.  On second thought, he grabbed the gun, checked the safety, and took it with him as he left the tent.

 

Barnes looked up at him, then at the items in his hand, before gesturing over to the largest of the pans they’d managed to scavenge. “I heated some water,” he told him.  “Should be jus’ about cool enough now.”

 

“Bless you,” Tony blurted out unthinkingly. Then he paused and eyed the man suspiciously.  “What’s with the three-sixty?” he asked.

 

Barnes frowned at him for a moment, his brow furrowing before realization set in and he shrugged. “It takes a bit to shift outta mission mode when I’m on an assignment,” he said.  “And it seemed like you didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so I didn’t bother.  But you just kept needlin’ me, and then I hit ya, and then it seemed kinda pointless to keep pretendin’ I wasn’t interested.”  He still looked guilty when he mentioned the minor altercation from the previous day, and Tony shrugged carefully.

 

“And then you killed something that was really very determined to eat me,” he pointed out. “So…we even?” he asked, surprised to find that he was actually hoping Barnes would say yes.

 

The Soldier blinked up at him. “Sure,” he agreed.  “If you’ll quit calling me Barnes.”

 

Tony frowned down into the pan of water, swishing a washcloth around the warm water half-heartedly. “All right,” he agreed after a moment.  “How about James?”  Calling the man who’d killed his parents by a childhood nickname like _Bucky_ just seemed a bit of a stretch. 

 

“James,” Barnes agreed. “Sure.”  And as a reward, he held out a still steaming cup of coffee to Tony, who hurriedly ran the wet cloth over his face and hair before dipping his hands into the water to get them somewhat clean before reaching for the life-restoring liquid.  Barnes – James – chuckled lightly.

 

While Tony sipped at his coffee and poked at what appeared to be reconstituted scrambled eggs, Barnes moved around the camp, cleaning up and stacking more wood near the fire pit. Now, in the dim light of morning that filtered through the treetops, Tony could properly appreciate the way the other man moved, all lithe grace and tightly controlled strength.  When Barnes caught him staring, he pretended to be incredibly interested in his mug of tasteless coffee.  “So…” he started, grasping for a topic of conversation that actually sounded legitimate, “how’s the arm working for you?”

 

Barnes paused. “I figured it had to be you,” he said softly, and Tony looked up in surprise.  He’d sent a note and everything, along with instructions for installation, if Barnes wanted it.  The other man was staring at his metal arm, flexing it so that the tiny plates shifted and moved.  Tony had made it with the same sort of technology he used in the Iron Man armor, designed it to be flexible and lightweight, but still able to deal out – and take – a lot of damage.

 

“Well, yeah,” he said, confused. “Didn’t you get the note I sent?  You know, along with the instructions so whoever installed it didn’t, like, sever your nerves or something?”

 

Barnes shook his head. “There wasn’t a note,” he said slowly, and now he sounded angry, his eyes narrowing.  “Or if there was, I didn’t get it.”  Pale eyes lifted to meet Tony’s surprised stare, cold as a Russian winter.  “What did the note say?”

 

Tony licked his lips nervously, not entirely sure he wanted to answer that, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t him Barnes was mad at. “Uh…basically it just said that I’m not really good at fixing interpersonal relationships, but your arm?  That I could fix.  I could make it _better_.  And maybe, if you wanted, we could try and fix the rest of it, too.”  He looked down at his hands where they wrapped around the now empty mug.  “I thought when you came to escort me to Wakanda, it was because you’d gotten the note,” he admitted quietly.  “But then you didn’t say more than a dozen words to me, so I figured maybe you didn’t want to fix anything else, and had only accepted the arm because you didn’t have a better choice at the time.”

 

“That damn punk,” Barnes growled out. “I’m gonna throttle him when we get outta here.”  They both knew who he was talking about.  After all, nothing would’ve gotten close to the Winter Soldier without his best friend knowing about it.

 

Tony winced. “Oh, no,” he denied, shaking his head, wincing when it pulled at sore muscles.  “I’m not gonna be responsible for breaking up the dynamic duo.  He probably thought I was trying to trick you or something, lure you out so I could arrest you.  In case you haven’t noticed, he’s a bit protective of you,” he pointed out quietly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  He was pretty sure he’d failed.

 

“I don’t need him to protect me!” Barnes exploded, making Tony flinch. Barnes softened his voice.  “I remember when he was just a skinny little runt, five foot nothin’ and eighty pounds, always gettin’ into fights with guys three times his size.  I had to rescue him from gettin’ beat up in a Brooklyn alleyway every other day, it seemed.”  Barnes sounded almost…wistful?  Tony looked up, recognizing that faraway look in the other man’s eyes.  Whatever he was remembering, they were good memories.  Or, at least, uncomplicated ones from a simpler time, before Steve became Captain America and Barnes became the victim of a war that had never really ended for him.

 

“Yeah, well, I think he likes that he can protect you now, instead,” Tony mused sardonically. Barnes gave him an irritated glare, and he shrugged.  “Can’t really blame the guy,” he tried instead.  “Since I was the one who sort of destroyed the previous arm.”

 

Barnes sighed. “With good reason,” he allowed.  “We were tryin’ real hard to kill you.”  Tony had replayed the fight scene over and over again, so he couldn’t say that Barnes was wrong, but he might not be entirely correct, either.  It seemed more like they were trying to disable him, instead.  Which they had done, rather spectacularly.  Tony had never been so grateful that the suits of armor had their own arc reactors, rather than being powered by the one in his chest.  Because dying of a heart attack from shrapnel in an underground bunker in Siberia had not been how he wanted to die.

 

“Whatever,” he sighed. “There was a note, you didn’t get the note, but the arm seems to be working okay, so I guess they at least got the instructions.”  Barnes nodded.  “Great!” Tony clapped his hands together with false cheer.  “Now what?” he asked.  “Back to the wreckage?”

 

Barnes shook his head, bringing over the duffle bag and setting it at Tony’s feet. “You got the gun?” he asked.  Tony nodded, holding it out as proof.  “Good.  You stay here, try to get something workin’ that’ll let Steve know where we are.  I’m gonna go back to the crash site and see if I can’t find more supplies or somethin’.  After we get your bandages changed,” he added.

 

Tony sighed, but allowed Barnes to unwind the bandages while a new pot of water heated on the fire. Looking around, he realized that Barnes must’ve left the tent at some point the night before and made a couple of trips down to the stream.  The carcass from yesterday’s kill was also nowhere to be seen, and Tony hoped something had eaten it, rather than leaving it to rot.

 

Barnes was gentle with the washcloth as he scrubbed the tacky, dried blood from Tony’s skin and checked around the puncture wounds. “Doesn’t look infected,” he said at last, sounding satisfied.  Tony sagged in relief; the last thing he needed was a bacterial infection when he had no idea how long it might be until he could seek medical attention.  “We’ll keep an eye on it, though, it’s still bleeding a bit,” Barnes added, and Tony could only nod.

 

After Barnes re-bandaged Tony’s injuries, he handed him an overly large plaid flannel that practically screamed Steve Rogers. Wrinkling his nose at the poor fashion taste, Tony begrudgingly put it on, deciding that clean clothes were more important than his pride right now, out here in the middle of nowhere with only Barnes and the local wildlife to see him.  It helped that the shirt was soft and warm, chasing away the last of the morning chill from Tony’s skin.

 

“I set up a perimeter forty yards out,” Barnes told him as he prepared to set out back to the wreckage site. “You should hear if somethin’ approaches.  My suggestion is to climb a tree first, and then shoot it.”  Tony grinned; sound advice from the Winter Soldier.  Who would’ve thought?  


After making sure everything was tidied up and put away or secured in nearby trees, Barnes left Tony at the campsite with his tech and a gun and headed back for the wreckage site. Tony hummed under his breath as he worked, his repulsor glove sitting next to him on the log they’d be using as a bench so his hands were free to manipulate the tiny wires and relays.  He really hoped Barnes was able to find the Mark V’s helmet; if he could fix it, he could connect directly with Jarvis.  Probably.  Assuming he could contact a satellite from here.

 

The jungle around him was quiet without Barnes there to distract him, the occasional scrabble of a rodent or a bit of birdsong the only noises to be heard other than the wind. Tony grumbled, hunching in on himself while he worked, hating the way the silence ate up so much of his attention, the way it distracted him from what he was working on.

 

The third time he fumbled the device, he swore and dropped it to the ground, raking his hands through his hair in frustration and glaring spitefully at nothing in particular. Working hunched over had caused his back and shoulders to stiffen, and he sighed as he stretched, clambering slowly to his feet.  He debated getting something to eat, but the food really wasn’t all that appetizing, and he wasn’t terribly hungry at the moment.  Pulling a bottle of sealed water out of the tent, Tony cracked it open and took a long sip, then slipped his repulsor glove back over his hand, though he didn’t attach it to the reactor in his chest just yet.  Picking up the device he’d been working on, he shoved it in the front pocket of the flannel shirt, grabbed the gun Barnes had left him and took one more look around the campsite before heading out, towards the wreckage.  He was bored, and he was frustrated, and a walk might help clear his head a little.  But the last thing he needed was to get lost, so off towards Barnes he went.

 

Travel was much easier in the daylight, and Tony came upon the first signs of wreckage – a twisted piece of the tail fin – just about forty minutes later. And Rhodey said he had no sense of direction, hah!  Pleased with himself, Tony took a moment to observe the furrows and busted trees, and then veered slightly towards the left and continued on his way.  If he remembered correctly, the suitcase armor was scattered somewhere around the front end of the plane.

 

He saw the first signs of trouble another hundred yards in. There weren’t any bodies, but there were definitely signs of a struggle, and Tony edged closer to a nearby tree as he scanned around him, listening for sounds that would indicate that a fight was still happening.  He heard nothing except the local wildlife, and he took a moment to attach his repulsor to the reactor and click the safety off his gun before he crept forward, alternating watching the area around him and scanning the ground for any indication of which way whoever had been here had gone.

 

“Dammit, Barnes. So help me, if you got your ass kidnapped and left me by myself in the middle of a freaking jungle, I’m going to kill you and drop your body in the Marianas Trench so Steve can never find you.”

 

Mostly certain that he wasn’t in immediate danger of attack, Tony moved forward more swiftly, his mind racing to figure out who had found them. Locals, maybe? Were there locals? And if so, what interest would they have in the Winter Soldier?  The Wakandans knew about him, so they wouldn’t have come after him with weapons, and Barnes wouldn’t have left Tony behind.  At least, he was pretty sure Barnes wasn’t planning to ditch him in the middle of nowhere to die of starvation or get eaten by a wild animal.

 

More wreckage, more signs of a struggle. Signs of scavenging, too, and Tony cursed under his breath; whoever this was, they had obviously done some salvaging of their own.  His eyes swept the area, his repulsor held at the ready and the gun clenched firmly in his left hand. If these guys were still around, he was determined to take out at least a few of them before they caught him.

 

More signs of a scuffle, this time with the addition of blood and bits of clothing. Still no bodies, though, and Tony frowned.  He was pretty sure the Winter Soldier would have killed at least a few of them by now.  Unless he’d really meant it when he’d said he didn’t kill anymore.

 

Before he could decide if that was a good thing or not, the sound of screams reached his ears.

 

Tony broke into a run.


	5. Find Whatever You May Need

Tony stared at the man looking back at him. Then looked at the bodies scattered around.  Looked back up.  “Uh…a little help here?” he asked plaintively.

 

Barnes smiled grimly. “Hydra.  I don’t know how they found us, but I figured they’d have some way to communicate.”  He paused, then gestured at the row of squat tents and cement block buildings behind him.  “I was right.”

 

Tony nodded, picking his way carefully over the bodies as he walked towards Barnes, watching the other man’s eyes for any sign that the Winter Soldier was in charge. Barnes just stared calmly back at him, covered in blood that wasn’t his own.  Well, some of it might be, Tony reassessed as he drew closer, his eyes tracking what appeared to be a bullet hole in Barnes’ right shoulder, and a couple of slices in his shirt that were oozing blood.

 

“Well, yeah, obviously,” he agreed, hands held up in the classic _I come in peace_ gesture, which admittedly probably wasn’t very reassuring, as the repulsor was still on his right hand.  It was powered down, though, so that counted for something, right?  “But what is Hydra doing in the middle of the jungle?” he asked.

 

Barnes shrugged. “Watching Wakanda, I’d guess,” he replied indifferently.  “I’ll let them know when we return.”  He looked around.  “Though it might be a while before Hydra sends replacements or a clean-up crew.”

 

Tony blinked, disconcerted for a moment. Then he shook his head.  “Yes, well, let’s make sure we’re gone before then, shall we?” he asked.  He looked around the encampment.  “And you’re sure we’re not about to be, I don’t know, ambushed or something?” he asked.

 

Barnes looked amused. “I waited until they brought me here,” he pointed out smugly.  “Nobody’s left.”  He gestured towards the sturdiest looking building, less tent and more outpost building.  It was basically a large block of cement with a single door and a couple of windows high up.  “Communications are probably in there.”

 

Tony nodded, taking a deep breath. “Communications. Right,” he agreed.  “Okay, I can work with that.”  He glanced at his companion, then waved him forward.  “Lead the way, Macduff,” he insisted politely.

 

Barnes gave him an odd look, and Tony wondered the man had ever read Shakespeare before as he followed the Soldier towards the communications building, wanting to get inside before taking a look at the other man’s injuries. Barnes had said there weren’t any others, and Tony was inclined to believe him, but he’d really rather not take the risk that he was wrong, or that Hydra was already sending reinforcements to collect their rogue Asset.  At least if was inside, they’d have to break down the door first. It might buy them a couple of extra minutes.

 

Barnes swiped an access card that he’d obviously taken off one of the men, and Tony rolled his eyes at the complete lack of anything even resembling security as he followed the other man inside. Upon seeing the communication array, Tony scowled.  “What is this, the nineteen-forties?” he demanded sourly.  “Oh my god, is that a Bombe?!”  He knew he sounded horrified, but honestly, what was he supposed to do with that?  He wasn’t trying to decrypt Nazi codes here.

 

“Tony,” Barnes said, deadpan.

 

“James,” Tony mimicked back, glancing over to see Barnes resting a hand on a laptop. He blinked. “Oh, thank god,” he sighed, hurrying over.  He grimaced as it booted up.  “Windows Vista? No wonder they were out mucking about in the jungle,” he muttered.  “Anything’s better than dealing with this.”  With a couple of taps, he was in the backdoor and manipulating the source code.  All he needed was a signature ping to reach Jarvis, and the AI would be able to locate its source and send the Mark XLVII.   He’d rescue his own damn self, thank you very much.

 

Barnes took up a post just inside the door, a pistol held loosely in each hand, his posture straight and eyes alert as he listened for any newcomers. Tony flicked a glance over at him before going back to the code.  “Do they have first aid around here somewhere?” he asked.  “We should probably get you cleaned up a bit.”

 

“Bullet was removed, right arm functioning at eighty-nine percent,” Barnes reported. “Superficial wounds from short blades, no vital organs hit.” 

 

“Oookay, then,” Tony muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. If Barnes said he was fine, then so be it.  “Just make sure that Steve knows that none of this was my fault,” he told the other man.  “Because if he tries to kill me again, I’m blaming you.”

 

“He won’t lay a hand on you,” Barnes promised him darkly, and Tony winced. Right, he’d forgotten that Barnes was still mad at Steve about a silly little letter. 

 

Silence fell for several minutes while Tony messed around with the code, cursing under his breath at the outdated technology. Windows Vista had sucked when it had come out; it certainly hadn’t improved any.  Finally, though, he had a secure backdoor and he sent out his SOS message, wiped the drive in its entirety, and closed it.  Then he gestured imperiously at Barnes.

 

“Have at it,” he told Barnes when the Soldier walked over to see what he wanted. Barnes looked at Tony’s expectant expression, then looked at the laptop.  Calmly, he curled his left hand into a fist and raised it, checking in with Tony again before slamming it into the casing, shattering it…and breaking the table underneath it in half.

 

Tony crowed in delight. He’d known seeing the arm in action would be a treat to watch.  He almost wished he had seen Barnes plowing through the Hydra agents with it, but given the fact that some of them were missing limbs and others were missing faces, he decided that ignorance was probably better in this instance.

 

Tony settled back. All they had to do now was wait – they’d return to the campsite when the armor arrived and gather up what they could, and notify Wakanda that they might want to send in their own people to see what Hydra had learned while they’d been stationed out here, and to clean up the remains of the wreckage.  Tony would also need to send in a team to determine who had put the bomb on the jet in the first place, because it hadn’t come from New York; he was confident that Jarvis would have noticed an intruder with a bomb if anyone had tried, which meant that it had probably come from Wakanda.  Unless the Quinjet had stopped somewhere on the way.

 

“So…how’s the arm working out for you?” Tony asked as nonchalantly as possibly, eyeing it from where he stood, his arms braced on a table – one that Barnes hadn’t broken in an impressive show of brute force. He really wanted to get his hands in there, to make sure that the Wakandan scientists or surgeons or whoever had actually followed his instructions.  He hadn’t spent months working on that arm to reduce feedback and create a neuro-net to help attach it painlessly to Barnes’ shoulder for them to mess it up by putting it on wrong.

 

Barnes blinked, then looked down at the arm, twisting it and curling the fingers into a fist before relaxing them again, staring at it as if he’d never seen it before. “Efficiency has increased fifty-three percent,” he answered obediently.  “Increased power output, minimum of twenty-seven percent.  I…” he seemed a bit at a loss, struggling for words for a moment before admitting, “I haven’t had the occasion to really test it out yet.”

 

Tony grinned. “Fantastic,” he said.  Barnes raised an eyebrow, and Tony’s grin widened.  “It means I get to be there when you do, right?” he asked, unable to keep the edge of eagerness out of his tone.  “I have ideas for improvements, but I couldn’t do that without seeing you, so I had to comb through Hydra’s data to figure out what they’d done in the first place.  Even with Jarvis’ help, the translations were a bit rough – whoever wrote down the notes on the arm had terrible handwriting, by the way – but I didn’t want to leave you with nothing, just in case you pal Rogers decided he needed to go rescue a country or something,” he continued lightly.  Barnes smiled humorlessly; that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility, and they both knew it.

 

“I’d like that,” Barnes agreed softly. “This is already so much better than the one before, though.  I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

 

Tony scoffed. “Are you kidding?  Next to the Iron Man armor, this is the most sophisticated piece of tech I’ve worked on since Jarvis.”  And the AI had mostly built himself, once Tony had laid the foundations so he could learn and grow at his own pace.  “Besides,” Tony added gleefully, “can you just imagine the look on Steve’s face?”  Barnes’ grin matched his own, and Tony knew he’d won.  Excellent.  Barmes’ arm had been a wondrous feat of engineering for its time, but Tony knew he could do so much better.  And, he realized, he cared to do better, not just to show up whichever Hydra scientist had come up with the arm in the first place, but because it would make Barnes’ life easier, if not better.

In the meantime, however, the two of them were sequestered in a secret Hydra bunk in the middle of a jungle located somewhere in the vicinity of Wakanda.  Even if Jarvis had gotten the ping already, it would take at least four hours to get an armor there.  Faster than a plane, yes, but it still left them with a lot of time of their hands. 

 

Tony looked around, then grinned. “What do you say we put that arm of yours through a few paces?” he suggested.  “Just need to find something to download whatever information they have, and then we can tear this place to the ground.”  His grin sharpened; he’d get to finally blow shit up with his repulsor, too, so that would be awesome.

 

Barnes looked at him like he was crazy, then paused to consider it, then blinked, his lips curving upwards into a smile. “All right,” he agreed softly.  “Gotta see how it works before you know what to fix, I guess.”  He nodded sharply, more sure this time.  “Yeah, sure, why not?”

 

Tony whooped.


	6. Fun and Games

Tony whistled cheerfully as he strolled towards his rooms at the Wakandan palace, having just been given a clean bill of health from the King’s medical staff. There was no lasting damage from the panther’s claws; he’d have ten new scars to show for it, but Barnes’ quick actions had kept the big cat from doing more than knocking him down before it had been killed.  The doctors had looked disapproving at the news that a large panther was dead at the end of a sniper’s rifle, but Barnes had been completely unconcerned.  And Tony was just grateful.

 

Barnes fell into step beside him, and Tony flashed him a quick smile. “Hey there, Freeze-Pop,” he greeted the other man.

 

Barnes grunted, and Tony sighed; ever since they’d left the jungle behind them, Barnes had reverted back to the Winter Soldier. Granted, he wasn’t trying to murder everybody in Wakanda, but he’d gone practically non-verbal, and when he did speak, it was in the clipped, professional tones of a soldier delivering a mission report.  Tony hated it; he’d been sure they were making progress, and Barnes was a really fun guy once you got to know him.

 

With a low growl, Tony snagged Barnes’ arm – the metal one – and tugged firmly. If Barnes didn’t want to be moved, he wouldn’t be, but Tony was betting that the fact that the man was here meant that he still cared, at least a little.

 

Sure enough, Barnes followed him complacently around the corner and into a random room. Tony glanced around the study, but it wasn’t T’challa’s study, and nobody was in it currently, so it would do for now.  Turning around, he shoved Barnes backwards so that the Soldier’s back hit the door, shutting it firmly.  “Do I need to get the armor and kick your ass?” he growled, his eyes narrowed.

 

Grey eyes, the color of an overcast sky, stared at him in vague confusion. Tony gave Barnes a little shake, though it didn’t do much in the way of actually moving the big soldier.  “Look, ever since we got back to Wakanda, you haven’t spoken more than a dozen words to me, despite following me around like my own personal Doberman. I was under the impression that you wanted to work things out, but you haven’t even said a simple ‘hello’ yet.  I don’t know if you want me to work on your arm or if you want me to drop dead, but this non-communication thing is getting old.  So tell me what’s going on.  Now,” he demanded.

 

Barnes glared at him sullenly, then dropped his gaze to the floor, his fair skin turning a dull red. Tony stared in disbelief; was the fearsome Winter Soldier _blushing_?!  Oh, this was gonna be good, he could tell.  “James,” Tony said coaxingly, shifting just enough that he could peer up at the other man through his lashes.  “What’s wrong?”

 

Still no answer, and Tony frowned. “James?” he tried again.  “Bucky?”

 

A shudder rolled through the other man, starting from his shoulders and shivering down his body. When he looked back up to meet Tony’s eyes, there was only James Buchanan Barnes there; not the Winter Soldier, not the sniper, not even Captain America’s friend.  “I…deviant behavior noted,” he tried, rather desperately.  “My programming is malfunctioning.  I can’t….I can’t,” he tried again, his eyes confused and pained, lost.

 

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Let’s try something else, yeah?” he suggested.  Barnes nodded, his body slowly straightening until he stood at parade rest, his gaze falling somewhere over Tony’s left shoulder.

 

Tony took a breath. “Okay,” he repeated under his breath, choosing his words carefully.  Not meeting Barnes’ eyes, giving the other man a small bit of safety in the non-confrontation, he asked, “Do you hate me?”

 

“No!” Barnes blurted, sounded shocked. Tony nodded, still not meeting the other man’s eyes.

 

“Do you trust me?” he asked next, knowing he’d probably just leapt over a bunch of questions. But these were the most important ones.  If Barnes didn’t hate him, then there was something else at work. If he was worried that Tony would report their location to Secretary Ross, that was understandable and could be dealt with.  But if he didn’t trust Tony, if he was following him around to make sure he didn’t try….whatever it was thought he might try…then Tony would thank T’challa for his hospitality and be gone on the next flight out of Wakanda.

 

Barnes nodded without hesitation. “Yes,” he answered.  “Probably more than I should,” he admitted quietly.

 

Tony nodded. ‘Yeah, know the feeling,” he agreed wryly.  “Okay, then.  I need you to trust that whatever it is you have to say, I won’t hold it against you.  But this waiting and wondering is killing me.” 

 

Barnes huffed a loud sigh, shifting on his feet as he stared down at Tony, who just watched him back. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile.  “You’re really somethin’, you know that?” he asked.

 

Tony nodded agreeably. “Well, of course I am,” he said.  “I’m a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. I’m practically the definition of _something_.”

 

Barnes shook his head. “Not what I meant,” he replied.

 

And before Tony could figure out what to say to that, Barnes grabbed him, his hands gentle but firm as he reeled Tony in and dipped his head down, dropping a chaste kiss on his mouth. Just a press of lips, then he was gone, hands held out and away from his body, a gesture of harmlessness.

 

Tony just stared at him for a long moment. Barnes stared back.  Tony spoke.

 

“That….was it?” he demanded. “Seriously?  That was your broken programming?” he demanded incredulously.

 

Barnes stared at him sourly. “It’s not….it’s been a long time,” he grumped.  “It’s not something the Winter Soldier needed to know.  The desire is…at odds with my programming.  The Soldier fights, kills, survives.  The Soldier follows orders.  He doesn’t get _attached_.”  Barnes sounded so affronted that Tony couldn’t help barking out a surprised laugh.  Barnes’ face darkened, and he sobered, his smile softening.

 

“I think maybe that’s Bucky Barnes talking,” he pointed out as gently as he could. “Steve always said his best friend had a way with the ladies.”

 

Barnes frowned. “You’re not a dame,” he protested.

 

Tony closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t ever let Natasha hear you refer to her as a dame,” he pleaded.  “But no, I’m not female. And this isn’t the forties.  You won’t be killed or refused employment or military service just because you bat for both teams. If you do.  You might not. This might just be confusion on your part.  If Steve’s the only guy you’re close to, then I might just be the first guy who’s spent time with you that isn’t like your kid brother.”

 

Barnes seemed to consider that for a moment. “I don’t feel the same for Wilson,” he mused.  “Or any of th’others.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause the others aren’t nearly as awesome as I am,” he teased. “But seriously, I think we need to have a talk, and then maybe see where this goes.  Because I’ve gotta admit, that murder strut you’ve got going on is really, really hot.  And I think I’ve mentioned it before, but we still need to talk about my parents. You…really don’t remember it, do you?” he asked, surprised, catching the agonized look on Barnes’ face.

 

“I remember the mission,” Barnes admits stiffly. “But I don’t remember faces too well. Unless I have to.”  He paused.  “Do you want me to?” he asked.  And Tony heard the offer there; Barnes would make himself recall that mission in perfect detail, despite his training, the brainwashing, everything.

 

Tony was touched. He wasn’t sure if Barnes knew that he’d managed to obtain a copy of the video that Zemo had shown them all.  He’d spent months watching it, sometimes to the exclusion of everything else.  He’d watched his parents die again and again and again.  And he’d seen the look in the Winter Soldier’s eyes.  There was no one home, not really.  He might as well have been a robot, for all the awareness he had. 

 

He’d had months to forgive his parents’ death. A small, ugly part of him was still furious at Steve for not telling him sooner, for letting him be blindsided by Zemo.  But most of his anger was directed at Hydra.  And at himself.  Maybe, if he hadn’t lost it completely when he’d seen that video, he and Steve would’ve been able to work something out, would have been able to protect Barnes.  He’d never know, though.

 

“No,” he replied at last, realizing that Barnes was still waiting for an answer. “While you went back in cryo, I did some research.  I’ve got locations for half a dozen Hydra bases, and possible locations for a dozen more.  I’m planning to destroy them, but I’m still under scrutiny for letting a bunch of rogues escape justice.”  He gave Barnes a wry smile, staring at one of the so-called rogues.  “Peace negotiations are only part of why I’m here,” he admitted.  “I’m hoping to trade resources and intelligence, but I don’t think Steve and I can be in the same room together without it devolving into an argument.”

 

Barnes scowled. “If Stevie knows what’s good for ‘im, he’ll shut up and listen,” he said firmly.  Tony stared at him, perplexed, then burst out laughing.

 

“Oh my god, you’ll tell him that, too, won’t you?” he asked, gasping the words out through his laughter. “You’ll go right up to Captain America and tell him to sit down and shut up.”

 

Barnes shrugged. “He’s still Stevie, scrawny little punk from Brooklyn.  ‘Sides,” he added, smugly, “he still can’t take me in a fight.”  That…was probably not exactly true, but since Steve had no desire whatsoever to engage his best friend in a true fight, then it was probably accurate, at least.

 

“All right,” he agreed. “You get Steve to stay in a room with me for more than five minutes, and I’ll give you everything I’ve got on those Hydra assholes.  Deal?”

 

Barnes nodded solemnly. “Yes,” he agreed.  Then paused, eyeing Tony contemplatively.  “So…any chance we can seal that with a kiss?” he asked hopefully.

 

Tony grinned, reaching up to hook one hand against the back of Barnes’ neck to pull him down. “Guess I’ll have to start calling you James in my head now, too,” he murmured, then dragged the other man in for a kiss.

 

Steve’s startled cry of, “Bucky? What the hell?” as he came around the corner – at the most inopportune moment, like usual – was the best thing Tony had ever heard.

 

Except maybe James’ laughter.


End file.
